A Weight
by curlycutie016
Summary: "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."


"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."

-Henry IV Pt. 2. III.i

When her Grandmother placed the tiara on her head she was surprised at how light it was. It seemed to actually elevate her whole body as if the tip of it was connected to a string that pulled her upwards.

Grandmama had spoken of the 'beauty of her mother' but all she could see was Anya the orphan wearing a tiara that cost the amount to feed the orphanage children for over a year.

It isn't until she is being fitted in a traditional Russian ball gown that she starts to feel like the princess she was supposed to have been. Sophie is just excited over this dress as she had been over all the latest Parisian fashions she had bought Anya a few days prior.

"Twirl, darling!" she commands.

Anya looks at her questioning, "What do you mean?"

Sophie sighs with a long-suffering expression, "Spin around let me look at you." Her French maid nods in agreement.

Anya obliges them, as the yellow silk swirls around her; light catches the jeweled embroidery on the bodice and the tiara throwing rainbow colours around the room. Anya laughs and smiles with them as both women applaud, so pleased that the lost princess is now transformed into a found one.

"I should probably take all this off," Anya says seriously. At their looks of confusion she clarifies, "I wouldn't want it to get ruined before the party tonight."

Sophie laughs at her, "Ruined? Oh darling girl you are too much, don't even think about changing. This wasn't a fitting this was a dressing, we're all dressed up and ready to go now."

"Ah I see," Anya says but really she doesn't understand why she needs to be fully ready for a party that won't begin for another three hours. But she doesn't want to be a country bumpkin; she is a princess now with the tiara to prove it.

Sophie and her maid titter to themselves in French before making their excuses and leave. Anya realizes there's no reason why she should loiter in the front hall so she walks to the stairs.

Of course, Dimitri would be walking down. Anya wishes she could say she hasn't thought much about him after slapping him and storming out of the Paris Opera House. But even as he comes down the stairs with his head down she thinks, 'Look at me.'

In her most regal and cool tone she addresses him, "Hello Dimitri."

Dimitri looks vaguely startled as he looks at her, like a fly just buzzed by him, "Hello."

Well that was no good, 'Two can play at this game,' she thinks angrily but just as coolly she says, "Did you collect your reward?" '1 Point Anya!' She thinks.

Protesting hands are thrown up, "My business is complete…" Before Anya can show how furious she is with him, an elderly footman interrupts their exchange.

"Ah young man, you will bow and address the princess as Your Highness."

How mortifying! Less than a few weeks ago she was Anya the orphan, breaking into the Winter Palace looking for Dimitri for help, they rode in a baggage car of a train together, he bought her a dress, and technically found her family.

Anya wasn't about to get on her knees and thank him, no he had gotten what he wanted out of the deal that was made when they shook hands in the abandoned palace ballroom, but still expecting him to bow to her and address her properly?

Anya can't help but blurt out, "No that's not necessary…" But it's always Dimitri who gets the last word, "Please, Your Highness," he gives the most lackluster bow she's ever experienced, "I'm glad you found what you were looking for."

With that dig, the cold mask comes back into play, "Yes I'm glad you did too."

"Well then goodbye," he bows again and in a softer tone, "Your Highness."

She can't tell if he's serious or mocking, but as he darts away she can't help but reach out to grab and pull him back, but it's too late. He's gone and she's still standing on the stairs.

"Goodbye," she says, defeated and suddenly feeling dragged down. The elevated sense of being has vanished; the dress is heavier than anything she's ever worn, even the multiple layers of clothing put on in the dead of winter at the orphanage were lighter. The tiara, worn with a head up high, now is a weight.

She can't help but feel that her last chance of escape just ran out the door with 10 million rubles.


End file.
